Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [84]
One of the cultists hesitantly pointed down the hall.
As if on cue, Jett and another cultist entered the corridor from the far end. If anything, the tattoo on Jett’s neck was even more pronounced than the last time Demascus saw the man. The expression on Jett’s face was thunderous, but flickered briefly to amusement when he saw Demascus.
Then his eyes widened as they fastened upon Leheren.
Leheren advanced, her boot heels ringing on the stone. Demascus followed, a pace behind.
She marched past the dumbfounded cultists with shovels dangling in lax hands, until she was face-to-face with the object of her wrath. Jett stood his ground, but the cultist at his side—Demascus suddenly recognized him as Garel—visibly shrank back.
Leheren stared at her fellow lieutenant. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.
Then she slapped Jett, just as she’d done to the first turncoat they’d met. The genasi’s head rocked back. The cultists nearby gasped and one let out a tiny sob of terror.
But Jett had the opposite reaction. He rubbed his cheek, red from Leheren’s hand. His lips slowly curled into a smile, and his shoulders straightened.
He was no longer afraid, Demascus realized. Why?
Jett said, “Lieutenant Leheren. I was worried about your safety in all these collapses. But here you are, walking around and feisty as ever. And you’ve found friends.”
Leheren said, “Surrender, Jett, or I’ll slay you and everyone we find down here. How on Faerûn did you think you were going to get away with forming a demon cult inside the Firestorm Cabal?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, his voice light. “Maybe because I’m only a co-instigator in all this.”
“Who, then?” said Leheren. “The deputy commander?”
Jett snorted. “No. A demon. It calls itself Murmur.”
A creature appeared from one of the cells as if summoned by the name. It held a limp genasi in one clawed hand. The thing was vaguely humanoid, but only just. Its limbs weren’t meant for anything except rending, striking, and tearing. It had no mouth; only a scatter of blinking scarlet across the otherwise empty face.
The Veil flared. Demascus licked his lips, and pointed his sword tip at the creature.
“Murmur?” Demascus asked. The thing was a nightmare, an offense against common sense, and—
“Hardly,” Jett said. “This creature is one of Murmur’s progeny. It’s called Portalbreaker.”
“A demon?” said Demascus.
“Sort of,” said Jett. He actually chuckled.
Demascus narrowed his eyes. I hate this guy, he thought. I should probably just cut him down right here and now.
Portalbreaker advanced, dropping the limp captive.
“Call it off,” Leheren commanded.
A resounding boom drew Demascus’s eyes in the direction from which they’d come. The doors they’d closed and barred lay on the ground. Yuriel stood there with a parade of cultists.
Riltana yelled, “Bastard pig-straddlers!” The airsoul leaped at Yuriel, and Carmenere followed at a run. So it was going to be a two-front fight. Not good. He automatically noted the positions of Yuriel and the attacking cultists, seeing where each would likely go, and how many would find their progress blocked by their fellows. Which gave him a moment.
He flicked his attention to the front as Portalbreaker charged. Despite all its eyes, it made as if to go right past Leheren as though it couldn’t see her.
It shouldn’t have ignored her; Leheren’s quick sword lopped off one of its arms, spraying clear ichor everywhere.
Portalbreaker wheeled to face the lieutenant, completely quiet even in the face of the wound she’d just dealt. New crystalline eyes popped open all over its body, each shedding fell red illumination. Whatever grace the woman had first enjoyed was gone.
Demascus closed the distance to Portalbreaker while all its attention was on Leheren. His breath came in short gasps.
When he’d fought Inakin in the alley on the way to Carmenere’s, he’d found a sort of power in the gloom, different from the radiant light he’d generated with his sword before that. The shadows had become like physical things, shrouds